


the love that we've come to deserve

by onetiredboy



Series: Jay's Gender Fics (Read Disclaimer) [5]
Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Other, and mostly just me going: MAN i LOVE TRANS PEOPLE!!!! through the platform of juno and nureyev, and very gender affirming, drinks my gender juice ahhhh a nice refreshment, idk what else to say, its also hopelessly romantic im a simple man, its very fluffy, juno vs being a loving partner vs his fear of blood, peter nureyev gets his period and IS UPSET, then they talk about gender and stuff in detail, trans author btw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:34:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24785473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onetiredboy/pseuds/onetiredboy
Summary: Peter doesn't usually have periods, but they can occasionally break through. This is the first time it's ever happened while he's in a relationship.A fic about how gender can be kind of cool sometimes, body-positivity, and Juno heroically managing not to be sick at the first sight of blood.Title from Car Seat Headrest's The Ending of Dramamine
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel
Series: Jay's Gender Fics (Read Disclaimer) [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1782826
Comments: 52
Kudos: 247





	the love that we've come to deserve

**Author's Note:**

> **EDIT: I am discontinuing this series. Please follow the link to the series this is from and read the disclaimer there. Thank you!**
> 
> Detailed CWs because this is a gender fic & I like to play it safe: while written to be gender affirming, this fic contains content that may trigger dysphoria/does discuss dysphoria, so if you're having a 'if i think abt gender im gonna cry' sort of day, perhaps come back to it. It includes discussions of periods and genitalia in a non-sexual but detailed way. There's vaguely sexual content in the beginning, but no actual sex happens. Masculine language is used to refer to Peter's body throughout, but there is mention of his uterus.
> 
> Also a necessary disclaimer: a lot of this is projection, I'm not trying to dictate canon with this fic.

The world comes into focus on an image of Peter Nureyev.

More specifically, Peter Nureyev with his mouth open, sharp teeth poised as if he’d fallen asleep just before he’d been about to bite something. His hair fans above him on the pillow, and one arm is thrown above his head haphazardly.

It’s still strange, waking up to having someone else in his bed. The awe of it hasn’t quite worn off yet, the split second surprise followed by the low hum of happiness. Juno hopes it never does.

Another thing Juno hopes never gets old is shuffling over in the bed and sliding an arm over Peter’s torso, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. Peter stirs above him. Juno never used to be much of a fan of waking up before he started waking up to the feeling of Peter’s lips on his forehead, and he tries to return the favour whenever he gets the chance.

Peter’s arm comes down to wrap around Juno’s back, and he mumbles, “G’morn’g…”

Juno smiles against Peter’s neck, and then kisses him there, “Morning, handsome.”

His hand rests flat on the plane of Peter’s stomach, and as he trails kisses up his neck to underneath his jaw, Juno’s hand trails steadily downwards. Peter laughs.

“In the mood already?”

“Hard not to be when you’re around,” Juno teases. He pauses, one of his fingers flicking the elastic on Peter’s boxers, “What, am I too eager for you? Need some time to wake up properly first?”

“I didn’t say that,” Peter murmurs, and it’s Juno’s turn to laugh.

He slips his fingers down, and Peter breathes in a tiny gasp. Warmth blooms in Juno’s stomach. Then – “Huh,” he says, “You’re wet.”

“Well, I think I know who to blame—”

“No, like, you’re… _really_ wet,” Juno says, pulling his hand out of Peter’s boxers, and Peter sits up so fast he almost knocks Juno out.

“Shit,” he hisses, and pulls the blankets into his lap, bundling them up over his body like someone who’s suddenly realised they’re naked. He hunches over, and Juno looks at his fingers and sees red.

“Oh,” Juno says. “Okay. Do you keep any pads?”

“ _No_ ,” Peter snaps without looking at him, “Of course I don’t, I don’t—I’m not meant to—”

He trails off and sighs heavily. His vertebrae shift where they poke out against the hunch of his back. “This doesn’t happen very often,” is all he says, sounding all at once tired and disappointed and angry and sad.

Juno aches to blanket Peter’s back with his body, to pull him into a hug and kiss the side of his face and comfort him. But all of Peter’s body language says now is a no-touch time, and cuddles won’t fix the problem of the blood seeping into the sheets. So he sighs, “Okay. I’ll go raid Rita’s bathroom box.”

Peter whips around to look at him like a frightened animal, but before he can say anything Juno soothes him, “I won’t tell her. She won’t even notice one’s missing. It’s alright.”

Peter looks at him a moment longer, and then his shoulders slump and he turns away again, nodding his head. Juno pulls back the blankets and braves the cold air of the ship. He groans as he gets up, stretching out his joints as he walks to the closet.

The closet. Years and years, Juno hasn’t used a closet for. He’s never needed to. Nobody needs to! But isn’t that how love works: one day you’re totally fine, and then all of a sudden your boyfriend is moving into your bedroom and apparently decides leaving all your clothes scattered around your room for easy access is ‘unacceptable’.

Juno finds a pair of boxers and an old shirt, and promises Peter he won’t be long as he slips out of the door. He takes stock of the situation as he patters down the hallway towards the bathroom.

He’s been with partners that have had periods before, obviously, but that doesn’t mean anything. Periods are personal, and Juno’s been with enough people to know that some don’t really care about them, and others (and, in Juno’s experience, especially men) struggle with them. But Juno’s not the kind of lady to be disgusted, or not know how to handle them.

The bathroom is thankfully unoccupied. Juno washes his hands in the sink, trying not to grimace, and then crouches down. Underneath the sink is a cupboard where everyone keeps a box of their own bathroom supplies. Rita’s isn’t hard to guess – Juno assumes it’s the bright pink one with stickers all over it. Sure enough, there’s a packet of pads in there, and Juno grabs one.

Then he sits properly down on the bathroom floor and tries not to entirely freak out.

Okay, okay, okay. So two seconds ago, Juno was thinking to himself about just how equipped he was to deal with this. And he is! It’s not the period part of it that gets him. It’s just been a while since he’s been with a partner who has them, and… well. It’s just the blood. If he thinks about it too hard, it starts to make him feel a little sick, and holding pads and thinking about washing sheets is just all… not great. Obviously, if Peter can’t emotionally handle cleaning his own blood out of the sheets or clothes, Juno will do it. He’s not going to up and ditch him.

But. That doesn’t mean he can’t really, really, _really_ hope he won’t have to.

Juno justifies the time it takes him to be strong enough to return to the bedroom by assuming that Peter is probably grateful for having a little of his own time to come to grips with his situation. Then he gets off the floor with another groan, and heads back towards the bedroom.

Peter’s stripped the sheets by the time Juno walks in. They lie, folded, by the door, and Juno can’t help but think that Peter Nureyev is probably the only man alive who _folds_ dirty sheets.

He hasn’t changed, though. Nureyev stands in his boxers with his arms folded tight over his chest, looking like if he had the chance, he’d fold himself up like the blankets and disappear.

Juno passes the pad from hand to hand. He clears his throat, “Um. I’m just… going to put this here for you,” he says, and places it on the end of the stripped bed. “Uh. Are you…?” the question dies in his throat at the withering look Peter gives him, so he just says, “I’m going to take these blankets to the wash.”

“I’ll do it,” Peter’s voice comes out quiet and pinched. “Just give me a second to change.”

He grabs the pad off the bed like if he doesn’t move fast enough it’ll be snatched away. Then he disappears into the closet.

Juno sits down heavily on the end of the bed and breathes out. He can already tell this isn’t going to be an easy few days for either of them. He chews on the peeling skin of his bottom lip and frowns at a spot on the floor.

He has to be careful. He knows how this can go, how it used to go with Diamond. Diamond would have a rough day, or bad news, and Juno would try and do something nice, and inevitably he’d only ever make it worse. Diamond would get upset, and Juno would get defensive, and then they’d start fighting again, and… well, at least taking it all out on Juno used to calm Diamond down. After a while, Juno used to start fights just to give Diamond an opportunity to blow off steam.

Juno scrubs a hand over his face. Weird how the red flags only stand out once you’re far enough away to see them. Fucked up how there’s still a part of him that doesn’t see anything wrong with it.

Okay. He’s not planning on fighting with Peter, and he’s not planning on hiding away from him, either. He can do something else, that will help Peter feel alright. Probably.

He’s still preoccupied with the matter of what, exactly, to do, when Peter walks out of the closet again. He’s in tight pants and a button-down that’s actually… fully buttoned down, which is unusual for him. The pad wrapper is clenched in one fist that Peter thrusts into the little bin beside the bed as quickly as he can; the other fist is closed around a bundle of cloth Juno assumes is Peter’s boxers.

“Hey,” Juno reaches out as Nureyev walks past, but he swerves to miss Juno’s grip and keeps walking. “Hey? Are you alright?”

“Of course,” Nureyev mutters.

But there’s a frown on his face when he turns back around from picking up the blankets near the door, a tired sigh building between his shoulders. He may not want to say it with his words, but Juno knows well enough that Peter is telling Juno that no, he is very much not alright.

Juno offers him a sympathetic smile, “Three words.”

For a moment, the frown on Peter’s face clears. His shoulders change from exhausted to relieved, and he gives Juno a little smile, “I love you, too.”

Then he leaves the room.

* * *

By the time Peter returns, Juno’s made some changes.

Juno’s body spikes with anxiety when he hears the door slide open. He concentrates on smoothing out the sheets so he doesn’t have to look up and meet Peter’s eyes.

“What’s this for?” Nureyev asks, the door sliding closed behind him.

Juno clears his throat, and stands up straight.

Now that he looks at it, it’s a lot shoddier than he had pictured in his mind’s eye. The comfy doona he stole from Rita’s room is a little childish, and kinda clashes with the cushions he stole from the sofa in the lounge. Still, he tries to muster up some confidence when he says, “I had this ex once, and every time they had their period, they didn’t really like going out and seeing other people? I… didn’t handle it the best way, back then,” he mutters, “But anyway. I thought maybe, if it was the same for you, we could just… spend the day in here together. If you want.”

“Oh,” Nureyev says.

Juno panics, “I mean, if that’s not what you like to do, I—”

“No,” Nureyev steps further into the room. He laughs a little, “To be quite honest with you, usually I just spend the few days locked up in my own head and busting into tears at every little mood swing. It’s really nothing to give me special treatment over.”

Juno frowns, “Well… what if I want to give you special treatment anyway? Look, if it’s— patronising, I get it, I’ll back off, but… I care about you a lot, okay? I don’t want you to go through a tough thing without being looked after.”

Nureyev stares at him for a moment. Then he laughs, and tips his head back a little, wiping at the corner of his eye with a thumb, “And here come the waterworks, right on time…”

“Aw, honey,” Juno walks over to him and tries to pull him into an embrace, but Nureyev holds him off and shakes his head, blinking a few times.

“No, don’t indulge it,” he says, and then sighs, “I’m not very fun to be around like this, Juno. I’d perfectly understand it if you’d rather leave me to my own devices. I can handle myself.”

Juno only laughs at that, and then he swoops in and knocks Peter’s legs from under him, scooping him up in his arms. Peter yelps and scrambles for a moment, and in that time Juno has already spun around and thrown him down on the bed.

Peter glares up at him in feigned anger as Juno falls onto the bed beside him. Juno plants a hand on his chest and leans over to kiss him, “My Peter Nureyev,” he says. (Peter’s frown evaporates immediately) Juno shakes his head and continues, “He always thinks he has to go through things alone. How long do you think it’s gonna be before he learns that just because he _can_ do something on his own doesn’t mean he _has_ to?”

Nureyev sighs, and relaxes back into the pillows, “Probably as long as it takes him to unlearn the _stupid_ belief that relying on other people when not strictly necessary is a sign of weakness.”

Juno hums, and rolls onto his back, “Funny how often we convince ourselves shutting up and being too scared to let people help us out is the _strong_ thing to do. I’ve been through a lot of shit in my life, but nothing I ever did took more strength than learning how to be vulnerable.”

Nureyev breathes in and out through his nose. Then his hand finds Juno’s in the blankets. After a moment, he says, “I’d very much appreciate it if you could stay with me. Please.”

“Of course,” Juno murmurs, and brings their hands to his mouth to press a kiss to the back of Nureyev’s hand.

Nureyev’s laugh comes out a little watery, and he lifts his other hand to wipe at his eyes again, “God. I hate this.”

“Mm,” Juno rolls onto his side, keeping the two of their hands intertwined between their bodies, “I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do?”

Nureyev shakes his head and sniffles, “It always makes me feel so… weak. I lose control of my emotions, of my own body… It makes me feel so awful, in a way I can’t quite explain. It’s this… this discomfort. It makes my usual clothes and makeup and style feel… almost unbearable.”

“Is it…” Juno tries, “like… a dysphoria flare-up, maybe?”

Nureyev shrugs, “I’ve never given much thought to that concept. It feels outdated.”

“It is,” Juno agrees, “And it might not even apply to you at all. I dunno. I don’t tend to get it that bad. But when I was figuring myself out, the idea helped me differentiate between just liking different clothes on different days and actually acknowledging it ran deeper than that.”

“I suppose it does make me uncomfortable to think of my body as acting in a way that conflicts with my identity,” Nureyev says. “I know mine has never been a female body, regardless of whether it menstruates or not, but the fact remains that a good deal of bodies like mine are.”

“And a good deal of bodies like mine are,” Juno counters, “And a good deal of bodies like mine aren’t.”

“I know that,” Nureyev says, a little harshly. Then he sighs, “Sorry. I can get… snappy, like this.”

“S’alright,” Juno squeezes Nureyev’s hand, “We can stop talking about it, if it’s making it worse.”

“I think it’s less…” Nureyev starts, and then halts. He frowns a little, finding words, and then continues, “It’s less that I feel uncomfortable that I menstruate, and more that having others find out my body is capable of it makes me feel… out of control of how others perceive me. That kind of control has always been very important to me.”

“Right, that makes sense,” Juno says. He squeezes Peter’s hand again, “If it helps… I’ve dated plenty of men who have periods before. Knowing your body menstruates every now and then doesn’t make me think of it as any less masculine than I already did.”

“Thank you,” Nureyev says, he curls on his side towards Juno and leans in to kiss him once.

Juno smiles when they part, and then he laughs a little to himself, “You know, when I was a teen, I used to get jealous of people who menstruated.”

“Really?” Nureyev sounds horrified.

“Yeah!” Juno rolls onto his back, “I dunno. I remember when Mick got his first period. It was like he was an adult. I’m pretty sure Sasha and I were both pretty jealous for a while.”

Juno shakes his head, “It’s weird, you know? Looking back. Now that I think about it, I used to get really bad bottom dysphoria. I saved up for surgery, you know.”

“But you never went through with it?”

“Nah,” Juno says. “I think part of it was a manifestation of the fact that I never stopped to think that I wasn’t a man. Or at least, that I wasn’t a man unless I was also a lady. Once I started experimenting in that sense, I learned that I really enjoyed the different parts of my body and what they mean to me. I started seeing my dick as something feminine. I shaved for a bit, but then I started seeing my pelvic hair as something feminine, too. And in the meantime, I learned how to tuck, so on days I was really uncomfortable, I’d do that. Still do. It makes me feel a lot more at ease.”

“I see,” Peter says.

“Have you ever thought about it?” Juno asks, propping himself up on an elbow, “Surgery, I mean. You don’t have to reconstruct your dick, but you could take out your uterus and stuff.”

Nureyev raises an eyebrow, “I’m glad to see you know your anatomy.”

“Shut up,” Juno grins, “You know what I mean.”

“I do,” Nureyev concedes. Then his eyes drift from Juno’s and he stares at the ceiling. “I suppose I haven’t thought about it. Although at times I’d like to have a different penis, quite honestly, I’m rather happy with the overall look of my body. And the testosterone tends to keep my period away enough that I don’t tend to think about my, as you so eloquently put it, ‘uterus and stuff’.”

Juno punches his arm affectionately and rolls his eyes. “Well, I’m glad you’re happy. While we’re in the business of mimicking each other, for the record, I’m rather happy with the overall look of your body, too.”

Nureyev laughs and leans up to kiss Juno, “This is nice. I don’t think I’ve ever talked about this in so much detail before.”

“It can be cathartic,” Juno agrees. “I like acknowledging the things my body has done for me that I appreciate. I think my body is pretty wonderful. It’s like this mix-and-match I’ve put together to define what masculinity and femininity mean to me. I get to wake up every day and assemble myself according to whatever I feel reflects me best. I love that my body is so versatile in that respect.”

“Mm,” Peter says, “I’ve been lucky, too.” He pauses for a moment, and then says, “If you’re comfortable… I’d like you to tell me more about what you mean by… assembling yourself. I think I understand, but… It’s important to me to know what your body means to you.”

“Sure,” Juno sits up more comfortably in the bed. “I like to think of my body as a combination of masculine and feminine parts. Like, for me… my body hair is masculine. I really like the way it’s thick on my chest and my arms and legs. I think it’s really handsome. On the other hand, like I said before, my dick can kind of go either way. It’s feminine a lot of the time. That’s why I like it so much when you buy me nice lingerie. It’s not, like, a fetish thing, I just love how much more like a lady I feel when I look in the mirror and see my dick in something nice like that.”

Peter watches Juno speak with a kind of intense look in his eye that almost makes Juno’s voice falter. It’s not lust, or wanting, or anything like that, it’s… adoration. Interest. Juno can tell that Peter is filing these things away just so he can know how better to understand the way Juno sees himself. It’s… intimate in a way that could fuck Juno up if he thinks too hard about it. So he doesn’t.

His hands trail over his body as he speaks, almost as an afterthought. “My tits are definitely feminine,” he says, “I love the way they look in bras. And to me, my fat’s feminine, too. That’s one of the things I love about it: It looks so sexy on my waist and hips. When I wear lipstick, that’s more masculine to me. It brings out my stubble. But the rest of my makeup, when I can be fucked to put it on, is feminine.”

“Some of my piercings are feminine, others are way more masculine. That’s why I only wear certain ones at certain times. I prefer my haircut to be masculine, and my clothes tend to be more masculine. I appreciate wearing masculine things on what I perceive to be a more feminine body.”

He tries to think of anything more, but stalls. He shrugs, “So, yeah. That’s what I mean when I say I categorise parts of my body. How about you?”

It’s clear he’s caught Nureyev off guard. He blinks, “Me?”

“Yeah. I mean, I can start,” Juno says, “Like, for example, I think your face structure is super masculine. And super sexy, but that’s unrelated,” he grins. “But what do you think?”

Nureyev looks at him a moment, and that same frown creases his features. “I’m not sure,” he says at last. “I’ve never really thought of myself as a collection of parts like that. Everything I present myself is… masculine, and it’s important to me that people can tell that, but it’s not… I do a lot of feminine things, as well. But it’s a different… it’s…” his frown deepens.

“Complicated,” Juno suggests for him, “Not so clear cut. I get it. For some people, it’s less about the individual parts and more about… the general vibe you give off, more about the whole. Which, when it comes to you, is feminine, but specifically femininity performed from a masculine lens. Is that kind of it?”

Peter’s frown evaporates. He blinks a few times, and says, “Yes. I think it’s something… similar to that. How’d you know?”

Juno shrugs again. “I guess it just _is_ the vibe you give off. You present pretty feminine, but you have this… suave, masculine charm to you simultaneously. It’s really hot.”

Nureyev grins, “Is that so?”

“You kidding me? You do know I, like, melt inside every time you look at me with that eyeliner that could cut and that pretty red lipstick and say may name in that gorgeous baritone, right?”

Nureyev giggles, and he rolls over to press Juno back into the mattress. He kisses him slowly and deeply.

“Thank you,” Nureyev says. He drums his fingers on Juno’s chest, and then he smiles a little and looks away, “I’m going to tell you something very embarrassing.”

“What’s that?” Juno asks.

“One year, on the date Mag and I assigned me my birthday, there was a meteor shower. The two of us went outside, and Mag told me to make a wish. I’ve always been a hopeless romantic, deep down – I wished that one day I’d have true love.”

Nureyev hesitates, and then he shrugs. He lies down on Juno’s chest, hiding his face from Juno’s gaze, “It only occurred to me a couple of weeks ago, but… I’d like to think my wish is what brought me to you.”

Juno’s breath gets knocked out of him. Tears build in his eye almost immediately, and he’s so caught up with that he doesn’t recognise until a moment later that Nureyev is already shaking against him in quiet tears.

“Stupid hormones,” Nureyev mutters, leaning up from Juno’s chest to wipe his eyes.

Juno laughs, and leans up to pepper his jaw down to his collarbones with kisses.


End file.
